Dawn
by AndThatWasEnough
Summary: 1967:Sam and Dean's father came home with a brand new Impala and told them that they were leaving Kansas for Tulsa, Oklahoma for the reason of helping their Vietnam recruitment office. So they packed up what they had and hit the road. Dean is reluctant to leave- he remembers their mother, and leaving feels like a betrayal. Then Sam meets Ponyboy Curtis, and everything changes.


**Author's Note: Welcome to the first chapter of "Dawn", a crossover fic of Supernatural and The Outsiders! This as a request given to me a while back, and I hope to get some work done on it in my downtime while I work on my other in-progress work,** ** _Sins of the Saints, Grace of the Goons,_** **another Outsiders work. I'm excited to write this, because I think these characters will work extremely well together. The whole brotherhood thing.**

 **Happy reading :)**

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Sam doesn't remember his mother. Which is fine by him, thanks for asking, but it also sucked. Whenever his dad or Dean said something about her, reminisced about her, all he could do was smile vacantly, and they would all pretend he knew what they were remembering, but he didn't. He never did. And he never would.

And maybe that was better than the way Dean had it.

John, their father, had never remarried. And he made it damn clear that he wasn't going to. Ever. Which was fine by the boys. They didn't want-or _need_ -another mother.

"Whatcha reading?"

Sam looked up at his brother. Dean was good-looking. He was eighteen years old, a high school dropout, and still lived at home. But it was okay because he was _so_ good-looking that everyone just assumed he was stupid.

 _"God help that poor boy,"_ Sam had overheard a woman from down the street once say. _"Lord blessed him in one way, 'prived him in the other."_

Sam refused to believe Dean was stupid. At least, not completely. Maybe he was a little stupid, but wasn't everybody?

Sam held up the book, _The Grapes of Wrath,_ and then set it back down on the table. "You've seen the movie, right?"

"Yeah, I saw the movie," Dean said, as if he was really saying, ' _Yeah,_ dumbass _, I saw the movie.'_ "We went to see it together, remember? At the drive-in last summer. They played that dumb beach movie right before it, too." Dean smiled wolfishly. "Though, ya gotta admit, that Gidget is a looker."

Sam snorted. "Sure."

"Aw, c'mon. Don't tell me you still ain't interested in girls yet."

Sam blushed deeply. "Shuddup, Dean."

"Oh, _Sammy!"_ Dean laughed. "You gotta be kiddin' me!"

"Dean! Seriously!"

Dean kept laughing, but held his hands up in surrender as he sank down into the chair opposite Sam at the kitchen table. "Okay, okay." He considered Sam for a moment as he returned to his book. "Ya know, Sam, you just spent a whole year reading. Why you still doing it now?"

"Cuz I like it."

"Well, sure. But you like doing other things, too. Dad'll kill me if I don't start getting you outta the house more."

Sam finally set his book down and stared his brother down. "Dean, what am I supposed to do while you're at work all day? Dad doesn't let me go out by myself yet, and I'm fourteen! I can take care of myself!"

"You know his reasons," Dean said softly. "He doesn't want anything to happen to you."

Sam let his face relax into something that resembled something like shame. "Yeah, I know," he whispered. "It's just… _frustrating."_

"I know it is, Sammy."

It was quiet between them. Dean must have turned the radio on because Bob Dylan's voice was drifting in quietly from the family room, a bit of static coming through. The cicadas were going strong outside, and it wasn't too hot now that the sun was starting to go down. It was a nice night. Sometimes, on nights like this, Sam and Dean would hop on their bikes and ride down to this farm a few miles down the road, and look up the stars. It was always the clearest out there, away from any streetlights. Sometimes, one of Sam's friends would tag along, and Dean would lead the way or trail along in back. Sam had a couple of close friends, and a lot of school friends. Jimmy and Cal were his closest. Jimmy lived down the block in the cul-de-sac, and Cal lived two blocks behind him.

Dean had never had many friends. He never really wanted to make any, it seemed. He would party with random people, hook up with some random squeeze, and then never talk about them again.

It was okay. Sam's friends liked him just fine, and Dean didn't seem to mind hanging out with a bunch of kids four and five years younger than him. He was Sam's cooler older brother, who wore a leather jacket and swirled his hair with pomade and worked as a car mechanic. He went drag racing. Girls loved him, even if they didn't want to spend more than a night with him.

But there was so much more to Dean than that. And almost nobody knew it.

The front door could be heard opening. That was John.

"Hey, boys," he called.

"Hey," they chorused lamely.

John was a gentle-looking giant, who kept quiet most of the time. He was a good man, a funny man, but he could easily distance himself. He would wake up, go to work, and then come home without one word to his boys one day, then not be able to stop talking the next. He just couldn't get over the loss of his wife, everyone supposed, and it was hard having a grown son at home, even if he did help pay the bills, and then there was little Sammy. John did the best he could. He really did. He made lunches. He used to read to Sam and Dean when they were little. They went to see baseball and basketball games, saw Wilt Chamberlain play all those years ago and win the title in 1957. They were happy. But it wasn't easy.

Not when there was so much to forget.

"Dean, you mind starting dinner?"

"No, sir."

Dean got out of his seat and headed towards the icebox. What would it be tonight? Leftover chicken and dumplings? Leftover chicken cacciatore? Ah, leftover chicken a la king! Dean had been watching _The French Chef_ since it had come out-something about that Julia Child really drew him in-but he hadn't worked himself up to the _beef bourguignon_ yet.

They ate a lot of chicken.

As Dean made up three plates of leftovers and put them in the oven, John watched as Sam sat and read his book. Kid never really seemed to stop reading. All his teachers said he was bright, and had a lot of potential. None of Dean's teachers had ever said that about him. They had looked at John with pity, knowing that he was a single father, and tell him, _"Mr. Winchester, Dean is a…nice boy. But he isn't the brightest. I'm just not sure how we can help him."_

Eventually, they dropped the part about him being a nice boy, just told him there was nothing they could do, and that was about the time Dean dropped out. He had been sixteen. John hates to admit it, but he's sort of glad. He brings in extra money, and he wasn't quite sure he could stand being called in to see the teacher or the principal just to hear them berate his son one more time. A guy can only take so much.

"How are things going down at the shop, Dean?" John asked.

Dean shrugged as he stood over the stove. "Fine. Good. 'Bout the same as usual."

"Would you mind taking a look at the car for me after dinner?"

"Sure. No problem."

The leftovers were good. Dean was the main chef in the family. He did most of the grocery shopping, decided what they would be eating that week and when, what days would be for having leftovers. John would help him budget, tell him to plan around that, but other than that, he didn't care what Dean made as long as everyone got fed. And Dean was a pretty good cook. John sure as hell wasn't gonna trust Sammy with the stove- the kid gets so lost in his own thoughts, he's afraid he'll forget the oven and burn the house down.

"Dad, can I come help with the car, too?" Sam asked. He and John were elbows-deep in suds. They were pretty much always on dish duty together.

"I don't see why not," John said. "Has Dean been showing you a thing or two?"

Sam shrugged. "Sorta. I know how to check the tires, and the oil. But I don't know how to change it or fix anything, really."

Their car was an old station wagon, green with brown wood doors. John used it to get to the hardware store he co-owned, and then the recruitment office. He was one of the members on the draft board, and if he was being honest, it was one of his least favorite things to go down there, listen to appeals, and then often times reject them and send a kid off to war. John had willingly enlisted when he was eighteen in '42, but that was different. These boys just seem… _younger_ than he was. Maybe it was because he had boys of his own. Dean had his draft card, and it was like playing the waiting game. Will it or won't it come? John truly believed that if Dean were to have to go to 'Nam, he'd come back. The kid was tough, had a fighting spirit about him and a loyalty to his family that would resist with every ounce of his being the mere possibility of dying in some foreign country.

But he was also a bit of a martyr. And that worried John.

Anyway, they drove a station wagon-

"Dad, what the _hell_ is this?"

-or, at least, they used to.

John and Sam went out to the driveway, and saw Dean standing there, jaw slack with his hands on his hips, staring at the shiny-new black Chevrolet Impala.

" _Dad…_ " Sam breathed. "Where's the car?"

"Traded it in," John said simply. "Got this beaut' here."

Dean traced a hand reverently over the chrome, over the hood, and on down until he reached the back of the car. He looked up at John.

"I saw this in a magazine the other day. Six-cylinders. Dad, this thing is a beast…"

Sam didn't seem as pleased as Dean was with the change. "I liked the station wagon! It was normal. Nobody drives around in a car like this unless they're _also_ in a gang."

"So are you saying you don't like it?" John asked.

Sam sighed. "Not exactly. It's…fine. But I liked the old car better."

"…specs on this are _outta sight…"_ Dean continued.

"Why'd you get it?" Sam asked.

John shrugged. "Needed a change." That brought him to another point. "Dean, shut your jaw and come over here."

With his boys standing on either side of him, John gestured for them to sit on the front stoop together. For a moment, they quietly looked out at the horizon. The sun was still making its way down, though the moon was now visible, and the time was past eight. This was the quiet town that all three of them had grown up in. It wasn't where John was born, but it was close enough. He and his mother and step-father had moved here, and this was where his mother and step-father were buried. Mary had lived here her entire life, her family pillars of the community. Her parents didn't like John much at all, at least her father didn't, hadn't ever, but he had died a few years ago. Mary's mother was still alive, but she didn't make much contact with John. She was getting older. Sometimes, the boys would go visit her for an afternoon, take over dinner. But that was about it.

John and Mary had been two wandering souls, chained physically but not mentally, and had found each other. And then, when Dean was four and Sam just a mere six months old, she had died. Just like that. Mary had been strong of mind and character, but not of body, especially not after having Dean, and _especially_ not after she'd had Sam. John figured it was only a matter of time before the slightest thing took her away.

He just couldn't have ever imagined it being so soon.

"Boys," John began. "I have some news."

The boys digested this. "Is…did grandma die?" Sam asked quietly. No matter how infrequently he saw her, how infrequently _they_ saw her, Sam could find some love for her.

"No," John said. "Your grandmother is fine. Well, so to speak."

"Then what, dad?" Dean asked, pressing him gently.

John pushed a long breath out his nose. Why make this any harder than it already was by drawing it out?

"We're moving," he said quietly. "No way around it. And it has to be soon."

"What?!" Dean snapped. "You're kidding," he added in a softer, disbelieving tone.

"Why, dad?" Sam asked.

"The army wants me to go down there," he explained, trying to make it even make sense to himself. "You know how I've been working in recruitment for the past few years?" Sam and Dean nodded. "Well, they want me to take my talents elsewhere, help get recruitment numbers up, help with the appeals process. I have the store, but mainly, boys, I've been doing this sort of work for them for years. And we keep sending more and more guys to Vietnam, so we have to fulfill the demand."

He gave Dean a meaningful look, but Dean couldn't seem to meet his eye.

"The draft is one thing," John continued, mostly to Sam, "but recruitment is another. We need more guys to willingly go. And they think I can help."

Sam pursed his lips, then frowned deeper than John had ever seen. "Vietnam is stupid."

John chuckled. "Yeah. It is."

"Where is 'there'?" Dean asked. He didn't look happy.

"Tulsa, Oklahoma."

"That's not _that_ far away," Sam said.

"Far enough," Dean grumbled. "For how long?"

John shrugged. "Don't know. It all depends. Maybe forever, kiddo. Maybe not."

 _Maybe, maybe not._

It all happened so fast. One day, John was telling them that they were moving, and they were gone that week. Packed up and headed for Oklahoma. John drove the new Impala, Dean sat shotgun, and Sam sat alone in the back. Dean loved the car. Sam was indifferent to it.

Dean loved his home in Kansas.

Sam was indifferent to it.

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 **AN: I hope you enjoyed chapter one! If you did, be sure to leave me a review, fave, or follow. It makes my day.**

 **Thanks for reading :)**


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